


All That I'm Living For

by boltschick2612



Series: Shattered [5]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Los Angeles Kings, M/M, POV First Person, Tampa Bay Lightning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-01-15
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boltschick2612/pseuds/boltschick2612
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vince retreats to his summer home to escape the real world, and he's visited by an old friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That I'm Living For

**Author's Note:**

> Follow up to 'This Fragile World Is Tearing Apart At The Seams'. Few quick things: Simon Gagne played for the Lightning during the 2010-2011 season. Every broadcast I watched, they felt the need to mention that Gagne and Vinny were friends from awhile back, and had been friends for awhile. He's suffered through many concussions and neck problems through out his career, and unfortunately suffered another one in December 2011 when he played for the Kings. It kept him out until the last round of the playoffs. It wasn't directly addressed, but I think it was alluded to that this story takes place during this year's playoffs. Title taken from "All That I'm Living For" by Evanescence. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

I don't know how long I've been outside, but the cool air and quiet tranquility is calming. I love the weather in Quebec this time of year. I had arrived to my summer home earlier in the day, and wasted no time in setting up a lounger in the back yard, so that I could  _try_  to relax. I watched the sun set, casting it's pink and purple streaks across the sky, and tried to clear my mind of the past week. I tried not to think of the hospital, the funeral, and the fact that Brad was gone. The whole concept of death seemed strange to me when I thought of it in terms of permanence. I still found myself reaching for the cell in my pocket as I sat here, intending to call Brad and share the details of the beautiful summer sun set. I had done that at least twice before my brain finally got the hint. The past few days have been a surreal blur of travel, long hours on the road, plane flights, and all while trying to hold myself together. I almost can't believe the places I've been and the things I've been through in just a short period of time. I guess the rush of it all was good, in a way. It kept me from thinking too much.

I couldn't stay in New York a second longer than I already had. I left the hospital, feeling drained and still suspended in a fog. I took a cab to the airport, only to make an impulse decision to rent a car instead. The shock of Henrik's words hadn't even left my mind before I was on the road to Murray Harbour.

The funeral was....well, I wouldn't know. I didn't go. I'm sure it was lovely, and all that, but I just couldn't bring myself to open the door and step inside the building. I made the trip with every intention of going. I even drove to the small church, but when it came time to open the door and walk inside...I just couldn't do it. I must have stood outside for hours, trying to will my body to move. I still wonder what was going on inside as I stood outside with the cool breeze seemingly pushing me forward, pushing me inside. I didn't listen, not to the breeze, and not to the voice inside my own head that told me I needed to be there.

I'm still wracked with anger. Anger over something that I'm not even sure happened, how insane is that? Almost as insane as making a sixteen hour drive for a funeral, only to end up not going. I know that if I went, then I would see  _him_ , and I would have to find out for sure. And I don't think I'm ready for that answer. Not until I know what I would even do with the knowledge. 

I know I'll regret it later in life, but right now I'm too hurt and angry to care. I had a lot of time to think as I drove my rental car from New York City to Prince Edward Island. It probably wasn't a good idea to drive, actually, for just that reason. Too much time to think about things. All I could think about as I drove was the pity that was written all over Henrik's face when he looked at me, and just how much it infuriated me.   
  
I don't know what's worse...not knowing the truth, or not being able to ask Brad about it. If he were here, I might not like the answer he gave me, but at least I could ask him why. I could ask him what made him seek out someone else, what made him betray my trust. And then, when all was said and done, we could work things through and become closer than before. That option was taken away from me now, and the only tie I had to the truth was the very person that Brad had sought to replace me. 

                                                                                                 -X-

I must have dozed off somewhere between one thought and the next, because the sound of the ringing doorbell, echoing through the empty hallway inside my house, wakes me from a sleep I wasn't even aware I had slipped into. I open my eyes to see that the purple and pink streaks of the setting sun have been replaced by the dark cloak of night. I almost let my eyes slide closed again, but then I hear the doorbell once more. Oh, right. The doorbell. The whole reason I was awakened in the first place.

I groggily climb out of the lounger and trudge through the backyard and into the house. As I make my way towards the front door, I briefly consider not answering the door at all. I really wasn't in the mood to see anyone, but at this time of night it must have been someone mistakenly knocking on the wrong door anyways. Besides, no one even knows that I'm here. 

I open the door, only to be greeted by a face I haven't seen in almost a year. He looks different than I remembered. His hair is a little longer, and this year's version of a playoff beard is a lot thicker than last year's. Aside from all that, his face looks haunted, his eyes dark with pain. His thin white shirt hangs looser on him than I was used to seeing, evidence that he had not been keeping up with his workout routine. Missing almost an entire season with his latest concussion had clearly been hell on him.

He's casually leaning against the door frame, and a sly smile curls around the corners of his lips. "You're a damn fool."

It's amazing how his heavy French accent can make even an insult sound like poetry. Except it wasn't that much of an insult, not really. It was pretty damn close to the truth.

"Well, hello to you too, Gags."

I haven't seen him since we stepped off the plane that took us from Boston back to Tampa after our heartbreaking playoff elimination last season. He made it known that he wanted to come back for another season, and if it were up to me, he would have.

Simon had always been one of those kinds of friends were it didn't matter how much time had passed since we've seen each other last, because when we saw each other again, we always picked back up right where we left off. It always felt like only minutes had passed, instead of months or years. I can't help but let out a small laugh at his choice of greeting. I don't need to ask just what in the hell he was talking about, but he explains himself none the less.

"You didn't go to the funeral. Why?"

I don't say anything, I just step aside to allow him to come in. As I make my way down the hall with him following behind, I go over in my mind all the possible ways to explain why I couldn't bring myself to be there. He follows me into the kitchen, where he takes a seat at one of the bar stools in front of the marble island. I move to the refrigerator and open the door, pretending to be looking for something to drink. The truth is, I'm trying to keep him from seeing my face as I'm on the verge of tears. I'm already regretting my decision not to go, as I knew I would. I'm not wishing I had gone for the usual reasons, though. No. I'm wishing I had gone so that I could finally find out the truth, once and for all. A few long moments of silence passed, him still waiting for an answer, and me still not knowing what to say.

I turn my head to look at him, and he's staring down at the counter top, tracing his fingers along the white swirls in the dark marble. If it were possible to actually crawl inside the fridge and hide from the world and Simon's questions, I probably would have. A slight change in subject seemed like a better option. "How did you know I wasn't there?"

I grabbed two bottled waters from the shelf, and closed to the door to the refrigerator. He waited until I was standing in front of the island, opposite him, to give his answer. 

"Because I was there. Mostly for you. Times like this...every player is family, and I thought you would need a friend."

I can't hide the shocked look from showing on my face, although if I would have thought about it, I really have no reason to be surprised. He ignores my face and takes the bottle of water I had placed in front of him. My luck seems to have run out after he takes a few sips and sets the bottle back down on the counter.

"So..why weren't you there?"

Do I tell him that I was? Do I admit to everything that has been going on in my head the past few days? In a small way, I feel as if sharing Henrik's secret would also be like betraying Brad...and I can't do that, can I? 

"I have my reasons."

Now I'm the one staring at the intricate pattern of swirls and shades in the marble. I'm trying to focus on the golden flecks ingrained in it as a distraction, but all it does is remind me of the light that would shine in Brad's eyes every time he would...well...those days are over now. Never again will I see his eyes light up with passion. I almost forgot I wasn't alone, until Simon's voice breaks through my thoughts, and it isn't a moment too soon.

"Your reasons don't matter. Funerals aren't for the dead, they are for the living. To give us a chance to grieve and heal. What possible reason could you have to deny yourself of that right?"

He's probably the only person that I would ever let get away with talking to me like that. It's always been that way, and I think it's because he's always been right. I've never seen Simon raise his voice or get into an argument unless he was absolutely certain that he would win. Right now, I'm not up for the fight. "How did you know I'd be here?"

"Where else would you go? This is the only place you won't be haunted by memories."

He was right. If I had went back to Tampa, I would have been haunted by the memories of things past, and I wouldn't be able to stop myself from wondering how much of it had been a lie. I knew I wasn't going to be able to avoid the subject with him, not for that much longer. I finally give in and turn away, angling my body slightly away from him. I may be ready to open myself up to him, but I'm not ready to look him in the eyes as I do so. 

"Henrik showed up to the hospital."

"Lundqvist? They were on the same team, Vince." He laughs, as if he's telling me something I haven't already thought of, or something I didn't already know. I second guess my decision, maybe I can't do this after all, but I don't think I can just turn back now.

"No one else from the team was there. He was there..."

I pause because I don't want to hear myself say it. I don't think I can even make my lips form those words. A few seconds pass, during which he keeps his gaze trained on me. I'm still not sure if I'm ready to share this kind of hurt with someone, but if I don't soon, it'll eat at me until there's nothing left. "He was there because Brad called him...right after the accident."

"And you think they...?" I'm grateful that he chooses not to end that sentence. "Did he say that they...were involved?"

I wince as the word "involved" leaves his lips and hangs in the air. I was right, I shouldn't be doing this. I walk away from the island and over to the kitchen sink. He might just see it as anxious movements, but the truth was that I felt as if I was going to throw up. My secret was given away when I lean down over the sink and dry heaves escape me. In the back of my mind, I hear the bar stool scraping over the tile floor as he pushes it backwards. When the nausea finally passes and I look up, he's standing next to me with my water bottle in hand. After a few sips of the blissfully cold water, I feel as if I can talk again. 

"He didn't say that they weren't."

He leaves my side and goes to sit back down, while I stay standing by the sink. A few moments of silence pass, and even the small amount of increased distance between us makes me feel alone and deserted. I slowly move back to where I was standing before, being careful to make it look like a causal movement instead of a movement filled with the desperation of needing to be close to someone. He locks his dark eyes with mine, and I see the same look in him that I saw in Henrik that night. From  _him_ , it came across as pity, but from Simon, it was compassion.   
  
"Your anger is keeping you from mourning him. You can't do that to yourself," he says.

I can't confess to him that every time even a sliver of sadness over Brad's death began to rise, I pushed it away and replaced it with fury. Focusing on something that I had even a fraction of control over may have been the only thing keeping me sane. I can't control death. I can't control whatever might have happened between Brad and someone else, but I can control how much I know about it.

I resort to the old standby of staring at the marble counter top and trailing my fingers along the cold stone. I whisper, and I'm not sure if the words were meant for him or myself. "I'm not sure I want to know."

He reaches out and rests his hand on top of mine, stopping my nervous movements and catching my full attention. I look up and  his eyes are looking into mine with an intensity I've never seen. "What does it matter now? Will it change the past?"

He's staring at me with a wondering look and, oh, that wasn't a rhetorical question. He wants an actual answer, even if we both already know what it's going to be. Maybe he knew I just needed to hear myself say it.

"No." My voice sounds embarrassingly small and scared.

He pulls his hand away from mine, but keeps his eyes locked with mine. He speaks in a soft voice, barely above a whisper. "Will it change the future?"

"There is no future anymore."

I may be a lot of things, but stupid enough to continue a fight that I know I've lost isn't one of them. I've been defeated, in so many ways, and not just here and now. I was defeated in the hospital, defeated the second Brad took his last breath, defeated the moment he signed in New York, and defeated every time he found himself in Henrik's bed.

Simon's voice breaks through my thoughts of self degradation. "My father always had a saying... _enterrer les secrets avec les morts._ "

Bury the secrets with the dead.

I had always admired Simon's quiet reserve. He's always so calm, so insightful, and he always seems to have the right thing to say at exactly the right time. Since the first moment I met him, he had always been the picture of serenity, despite how stormy the waters might get.

I sometimes wonder how different my life would be now if my past had taken a different course. Right now, for example, I find myself thinking about how my life might have ended up if Simon and Brad's destiny had changed places in 1998. What if the Flyers had drafted Brad, and Simon became a member of the Lightning alongside me? Would I have fallen for him, same as I did with Brad? Would Brad have become nothing more than the lifelong friend who was always there for me? And this raises another question...was my love for Brad based on nothing more than simple convenience? Did I fall for him only because he was always there, in my face everyday....until he wasn't?

Was it proximity, or was it true love?

I'm about six feet deep in my own misery when I look up to see his face crumble. He slams his eyes shut and rests his head in his hands, pressing at his temples with his fingers. I knew exactly what was going on, I've seen it more than enough times in the locker room, and it still breaks my heart to this day.

"It's that bad, huh?"

His voice is distant and soft, almost as if it pained him to speak. "Oui."

I really hate the feeling of helplessness that washes over me, I want to do something. I want to tell him that if I could personally take his pain, suffer through it myself, I would do it in a heartbeat. I may have only been his Captain for one season, but I've been his friend for what seems like my whole life.

His eyes clear and he finally rights himself, his composure falling back into place. "I guess two flights was more than my head could take."

"Why don't you stay for a few days? If Karine can be without you for a little while, that is." 

Any smile that was about to creep onto my face to go along with my poor attempt at a joke vanished when I saw him wince and turn away. I know exactly what that means. "Oh, Gags. I'm so sorry."

"Seems that I'm impossible to live with when I'm not playing."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"We hardly ever talk anymore, non?" His voice is so even, free of any of the anger that I know I deserve.

"No. I guess we don't."

Guilt washed over me, and all the times I thought about calling him come rushing back to me. I should have reached out to him months ago when he had suffered another concussion, but the truth was I was just too wrapped up in my own life. I was trying to be a good husband and father while at the same time trying to be there for Brad, despite the distance that seemed to constantly separate us. I guess being a good friend was a little bit more than I could have handled. 

I can't let him go back to an empty house in California now. I can't send him back there to be constantly reminded of the playoffs he can't play in and the family that's not waiting for him at home. 

It seems he needs me as much as I need him.

 

                                                                                                       -X-

 

We talked for a little while longer before deciding that it was time for bed, but I couldn't sleep. All the thoughts kept haunting me, burrowing into my sub-conscience until there nothing left for me to do except get up. The uncertainty had left me restless, and Simon's words kept running through my mind. 

_Your anger is keeping you from mourning him._

Mourning. Such a weird concept. What exactly is it that we become sad about, anyways? The lack of that person's presence in our life? The horrible pain they go through as the end greets them? Or the fact that everything we never knew about them finally comes to light?

Simon seemed to have such a simple answer. 

_Your anger is keeping you from mourning him._

So, just stop being angry, right? Just like that...stop wondering what might have happened, and focus on the fact that he's gone. Except I can't. I can't focus on the fact that he's no longer here. I just can't. It'll drive me insane if I do. Anger seems like a much more palatable emotion than sorrow. 

I have to know. I have to know if my entire past was a lie. I have to know if Brad really loved me, if I really loved him, or if we were just always conveniently there for each other. 

I really don't remember getting out of bed, going into the living room, and taking a seat at the writing desk in front of the open window. The cool breeze is blowing the chiffon curtains towards me, and they brush my cheek. I stare down at the phone that's clutched in my hands, it's screen displaying the same phone number for awhile now.  _His_  number. My thumb hovers over the "dial" button, same as it has been. I can't do anything but stare at it. The answers are literally at my fingertips, and I can't bring myself to find them. I hear the faint sounds of the guest bedroom door opening and the footsteps coming towards me. I know I must look strange to him, sitting here, staring at a cell phone. I feel his presence standing over me, but I don't look up. 

He slides the phone from my hand, and I feel my last bits of sanity slip through my fingers along with it. He crouches down until he's eye level with me, and he sets the phone down on the floor beside him. He reaches up and runs a hand along my jaw, turning my face towards his. 

His eyes plead with me, and his voice is soothing. "Enterrer les secrets avec les morts, Vincent."

I can't hold it together any longer. He wraps his arms around me and I fall apart the second I lay my head on his shoulder. My sobs grow louder with each repeated whisper of  "c'est d'accord" he sends into my ear. For this suspended moment in time, the possibility of Brad belonging to anyone else doesn't exist, and the only thing in my world is Simon holding me as I grieve. I know I'll have to come out of this moment eventually, but for right now, it's everything that I need.


End file.
